"Thanksgiving Week In The Food Biz" and "Dear Diary" and "A New Installment of 'Dear Cat'"

 


Dear Diary, Today was 11-21-05; now it is 11-22-05, 01:23. I am writing you, dear diary, because this is my new shtick; it just came to me as I started to hit da keys. Yours truly began a new rendition of "Dear Cat" the other night [ draft ]and will tuck it onto the end of this one, cos today/tomorrow is Tuesday, dear diary, and endless rigors await me.

At least, I'm not answering the phones-notice plural-and taking orders like I did for 30 years. And running myself ragged. Making sure the dressing was cooking at the right temp in the bain marie [ bambareen ]; making sure the product was in the building i.e. cooked turkeys, universal dressing-it's outta this world- frozen cranberry sauce, giblet gravy; making sure the carrot souffle-which I introduced to the world-is being made correctly at 39 lbs. a shot. [ big mixing bowl ] And making sure the pre-fab carrot souffle is snuggled together in the freezer with the beef livers, red velvet cake layers, breaded okra, frozen rolls that haven't been proofed, apple pies that only require butter and a hot oven, quarts of sweet potato pie filling, pre-fab pie shells, etc. etc. etc. etc.

And coordinating the whole affair, by having Thanksgiving runners who bring the food to the guests. Answering queries from the guests. Breaking up fights between guests and managers. A gay manager and a guest "got into it" one holiday season is one for the memoirs. And his taking home a ham dinner and extra sides and charging himself $7.00 and change is another-where do they find these people? [ apologies to Jerry Springer ] While stationed on the serving line, his favorite shtick was saying to the guests: "How can I satisfy your cravings, today?" Well, it does beat: "Serve You!"

Needless to say I won't miss it. And this T.G. will be my first one off in 30 years. Time flies when yer havin' fun. I won't know how to act, and I won't be exhausted and arriving late for my family dinner with Kitty, Charlie, Catlain, Babe, and Francois, [ the latter two=Kitty's mother and brother ] cos I'll be on the sofa watching football games on the boob tube and napping.

Well, dear diary, it's time to say farewell and adieu for another night pre T.G. v.c.

And here's another installment of "Dear Cat"

Submitted for yer approval and perusal: 

"Advice to the Lovelorn" returns tonite with another installment of "Dear Cat."

Dear Cat: I went to Rowdy High with you and recall that you were a BMOC. [ Big Man On Campus ] I lost touch with you until we met at a Rowdy High Reunion this year. And have been reading Golden Pond since you turned me on to it. I enjoy my daily dose of the catfish and believe one day you will hit the big time. My dilemma: I once had a bushy bushy blonde hairdo, long sideboards, pep in my step, and a large, er, boner, but lately, I've noticed my hair is thinning, sideboards are no longer cool, largesse is my middle name, and I have had to resort to modern medicine to achieve an erection. Plus, I have to take anti-cholesterol and blood pressure meds, and now have diabetes. My question: Ain't life a bitch? and is there any hope for me? Signed: "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and ex Rowdy High Alum!"

Dear Yellow [ just another ] Brick Road: Yes, I was quite a hunk back in the day. And thanks for reading "The Pond!" Although I have none of the symptoms you so eloquently described, you must quit your whining and forget the past, "moving forward." Join your local AARP and whine and bitch to your peer group that Bush and the Republicans are trying to take away your social security. Quit going to quacks and try herbs or join Ron L. Hubbard's "Scientology" network. Stop eating Big Macs and Whoppers! And here's suggesting you join a focus group to discuss your sexual malaise. After rethinking your situation, why don't you just "fuking give up?"**

*************If the above "Dear Cat" suggests someone you may know, the author claims no responsibility; it is coincidental, at best.